


Payoff

by ficbear



Series: Gunsel [21]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Corruption, Detectives, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Facials, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Handcuffs, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Police, Polyamory, Punching, Rentboys, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Spitroasting, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficbear/pseuds/ficbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Inspector Cole and his men put in a lot of overtime to tidy this up," the boss says, and the look on his face is so hard and cold that all of a sudden I feel like it's <em>my</em> fault the guy outside screwed up. "He isn't as happy as he could be. I want him happy, Johnny. Understand?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Payoff

The first time I set foot in the boss's office after I got back, just being in the building riled me up. Sure, I'd had that fortnight by the lake with Miller, but everything's different out there, everything's calmer and quieter, like it's not a real place at all. Being back in town was a different kettle of fish altogether. And the stupid thing is, the things that were riling me up, the things that I wanted and felt cheated out of, they didn't even make sense. I walked in there feeling like I deserved special treatment, and at the same time like if anyone mentioned the business up north I'd want to throttle them. Nothing could have made me happy, but what I got from the boss was the nearest anyone could've come to it.

I'd spent ten minutes waiting in the little room outside the office, eyeballing the two lackeys sitting on the sofa opposite me, wondering if they knew who I was, if they knew what I'd done, what'd happened up there. Whenever they looked at me I felt furious that they weren't congratulating me on a job well done, and offended in advance that they might be keeping their distance out of fear or kindness or something just as stupid. I got myself so wound up just standing there waiting that when the door opened and Joe ordered me inside, I scowled at him with real contempt and said "Yeah, alright, when I feel like it."

That went down about as well as you'd expect.

Joe dragged me in there by the collar, and shoved me in front of the old man's desk, like I was a schoolkid being hauled up in front of the headmaster. I just stood there, staring at the wall behind the boss's chair, not wanting to look right at him. A few seconds passed like that, silent and heavy. And then the boss said "You did well," and when I met his eyes it felt like he could see all of me, all the things I've done and said and thought, all of the things that make my cheeks burn and my stomach twist itself in knots, all the things that keep me up at night. He could see all of it, and it was alright. _I_ was alright. I was _me_ , again, finally.

And from behind me I heard Joe laugh and say "Yeah, you did, but don't get cocky."

That was what, a couple of months ago now? And since then the old man's put me back to work pretty much non-stop. I've barely had a chance to catch my breath, and to be honest I'm glad of it. Two weeks at the lake house was enough of a holiday for me. Now I want to be back in the thick of it.

So now I'm glad to be standing here in the waiting room, and now I'm eyeballing the new hire sitting on the sofa opposite me, sure, but it's out of boredom and interest, nothing more. He's alright to look at, too. There's been so many new guys taken on while I was away, I feel like half the faces I see around town these days are a stranger to me. At first that got to me, made _me_ feel like a stranger, but now that I'm on an even keel, it's just seems like so many more new opportunities for me to try my luck with.

This guy, I'd have a crack at. Probably five years older than me, well-built, sitting there in a tight grey suit that looks like flimsy wrapping paper tied up around a present it can hardly stretch to cover, with so many tattoos peeking out from under his shirt-cuffs and collar that he looks like he must have come straight out of the navy. And the look on his face—I've never seen someone look so mixed-up. He looks angry and forlorn, like he's on the verge of either breaking something or bursting out crying. I could sit and look at that face all day.

"Alright, get in here."

Joe's voice comes out through the open doorway like a hand on my arm, and I'm on my feet heading away from the mixed-up new hire before I know what I'm doing. Sometimes it feels like even if I wanted to ignore an order, my body wouldn't let me. It knows what it likes, and it knows what it's going to get if it plays nice and does as it's told. Against that kind of instinct, I don't stand a chance.

"You liked the look of him, did you?" Joe says, as he shuts the door behind us. Then he laughs, and gives me one of those smiles that makes my spine go cold. "Have a good look when you're on your way out, then. It'll be the last chance you get."

The boss looks up from his paper, and he's not smiling.

"Oh, I get it, that new guy got himself in trouble, did he?" I say, giving Joe a nice big smirk before I turn back to the old man. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I can't help myself. "You want to get someone a bit stricter on training duty, boss."

"Listen, you," Joe growls at me, grabbing me by the tie, but that's as far as he gets.

"Joe."

The old man only has to say that one word, and Joe lets go of me, just like magic. I can't help envying the boss, wishing I had half that kind of power over Tommy. If I want that kid to back off from someone, I have to shout his name half a dozen times before the message gets through. But Joe only needs telling once. He straightens my tie and pats me on the cheek, like he's just giving a bit of gentle discipline to an unruly kid, and then he glances at the boss as if to say _look, I'm treating him nicely, just like you wanted_. That's the sort of thing that would've set me off like a rocket, a couple of months back. But now, as much as it needles me, I can feel the warmth in it, too. I can feel that, and it's not too much.

"Inspector Cole and his men put in a lot of overtime to tidy this up," the boss says, and the look on his face is so hard and cold that all of a sudden I feel like it's _my_ fault the guy outside screwed up. "He isn't as happy as he could be. I want him happy, Johnny. Understand?"

"Sure," I say, grinning. "You want me to take the money over on my own, or am I taking one of the boys with me? He's always got that Sergeant with him, hasn't he? Might be worth two of us going."

The boss nods. "Take whoever you need to get the job done."

And then he goes back to reading the paper, so I guess that's me dismissed for the day.

When I get out onto the street, the kid's waiting across the road for me, leaning against the wall and eyeing up everyone who passes by. As soon as he spots me, he shouts "Johnny!" and runs right across the road without looking, so some poor chump of a driver has to swerve to miss him.

"Watch yourself," I say, grabbing him by the shoulder. "I need you in one piece, at least til tonight."

"Hey Johnny, why ain't I allowed in the office with you?" he says, letting what I've said sail right by him. "Why've I always got to wait outside?"

"The old man isn't sure if you're housebroken, that's why."

"Hah! I can behave myself, don't you worry," he laughs, and then looks up at me with a flicker of panic in those big, dark eyes. "Hang on, you need me in one piece til tonight? What're we doing tonight?"

"A job, if you want it."

"Aw, it's not carrying boxes again, is it? Did my back in last time, that did."

I slip my arm around his waist, stroking his side through the flimsy, battered leather of his jacket. "Don't worry, kid. This'll be easy money."

 

* * *

 

I don't think I've ever seen Tommy get genuinely nervous about anything. He gets fidgety sometimes, if he knows he's in for something good and he's itching to get started on it, like one of those dogs that can't keep still when they're waiting for a treat. He has these brief moments of panic if he thinks something's gone wrong, but a few seconds later he'll have forgotten all about it, and if you mention whatever it was that had him worried, he'll roll his eyes at you like you're overreacting, and what's more you're starting to _embarrass_ him. He has his moods, alright, but it's never real nerves. Even when it ought to be.

Tonight, for instance, he's cheerfully sitting next to me in this taxi, which in about ten minutes' time is going to deliver us to the doorstep of one of Inspector Cole's safehouses. Tommy knows exactly what Cole and his underling are into, on account of how I spent a good hour this afternoon lying on my bed with him, telling him about all the times I've been sent over to them before. He laid there with his head on my chest as he listened, and every time I got to the heavy stuff, he'd push himself up onto his elbows and watch my face as I talked, grinning at me and breaking out into this gleeful filthy laughter whenever I said something that struck him as particularly racy. He's never done this kind of thing before, and by rights he should be as nervous as a little kid on the first day of school, but he just doesn't give a damn. It's kind of impressive, that nonchalance, and at the same time it's annoying as hell. I mean, I used to throw myself in at the deep end just the same way when I was his age, but I at least had the decency to be _scared_ when I jumped.

"Hey Johnny," the kid says suddenly, turning round in his seat, with his eyes lit up by one of those little flashes of panic I was telling you about. "Johnny, the thing is, I don't like coppers much."

"Yeah, well, no-one does, do they?"

"Yeah but d'you think they'll be able to tell?"

"Sure," I laugh, "and they'll probably get a kick out of it, especially that Sergeant. Just another excuse to get his knuckles bloody, isn't it?"

"Hah!" Tommy grins at me and settles back down into his seat, leaning his head against my shoulder.

By the time we get there, he's raring to go. I ring the bell, and as we stand and wait on the doorstep, I can see him out the corner of my eye, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and fiddling with the buckle of his belt. It's too warm tonight for a jacket, so the kid's just wearing a pair of scuffed jeans and a flimsy little t-shirt, which to be honest I'm grateful for, because less clothes means less things for him to fidget with.

"What's this, the squirt squad?" Hudson says, as soon as he lays eyes on us. "Your boss must be having a laugh. You two aren't going to last five minutes."

"Hey!" Tommy says, pushing in front of me so he can square right up to the guy. "I ain't letting some clapped-out old copper talk to me like—"

"Watch that mouth," Hudson snarls, and he grabs hold of the front of Tommy's t-shirt with both hands, like he's going to rip it right off.

"Come on, now, Sergeant," I say, putting a hand on his arm. "You don't want to get into all that right out here on the doorstep, do you? Let's at least go inside and see what the Inspector thinks, eh?"

Hudson grunts a sort of reluctant half-agreement and lets go of Tommy. I have to bite my lip to stifle a laugh as we follow him inside. Dealing with this guy, in a way it's like dealing with Joe. He's like a great big brick wall just waiting to crash down on you, and the only hope you've got of stopping it falling is to mention the one man he actually listens to. Only it's funny, seeing a copper with those kind of tendencies, because surely he should be saluting and yes-sirring anyone higher up the food-chain than he is? And yet he doesn't seem to answer to anyone except his Inspector. It's like they're their own little branch of the police force, just him and his old man.

"You again, eh?" Cole says, getting up out of his armchair and circling around me, so he can get a good look at the rear view.

"Yeah," I smirk at him over my shoulder, watching him as he moves across to give Tommy the once-over too. "Only I've brought a friend this time, in case I get lonely."

Looking at the old guy, I can see why Hudson's such a devoted guard-dog. Cole's about the same age as the boss, I reckon, maybe a bit older. Same height as me, but a hell of a lot stockier, about equal parts muscle and middle-age spread. Grey hair cut short and as old-fashioned as the suit he's wearing, which is the sort of taupe double-breasted number you might see on any of the shifty old men down the Hare & Hunter on a Friday night. His face is lined and craggy and weary-looking, shadowed under the eyes and dusted with stubble around the chin, like he's been up all night counting his protection money. How anyone takes him seriously as a copper, I don't know. I guess deep down everyone can see they're basically the same as us, only in different colours.

"What d'you reckon, then?" I say, getting the envelope out of my pocket. "You want us to just leave this here and make ourselves scarce, or shall we stick around and show you how sorry the boss is for all that trouble?"

I drop the envelope onto the telephone table, letting it fall so it makes a nice, heavy thud, and I turn round to wait for Cole's answer. Of course, he doesn't bother saying anything to _me_. He just looks at Hudson and says "What're you waiting for, get them both stripped off."

Now, if he'd gotten me to undress Tommy, or if he'd done it himself, I reckon the kid would've gone along with it quite happily, grinning that shameless little grin he always does when he gets to show off his body. But the minute Hudson puts his hands on Tommy, the kid flares up like he's been jabbed with a cattle-prod.

"Hey, watch it, copper!" he says, snatching his t-shirt out of Hudson's hands like it's antique silk he doesn't want creasing. "I gotta wear this stuff on the way back, I don't want your paw-prints all over it."

"Tommy." I say, praying it's going to work for me like it works for the boss.

But it's too late. Hudson brings the back of his hand down hard across Tommy's face, knocking the stupid little punk back with enough force to make him stagger into me. And then Tommy looks up at me, just for a second, with a perfectly self-satisfied little smile, and I can just hear him saying _what, d'you think I was doing all this by accident?_

Well, alright then. I can work with that. I grab onto him from behind, wrapping my arms around his chest, and once I've got a good hold on him, I glance up at Hudson and say "Come on, Sergeant, don't hang about. I'm not going to be able to keep hold of him all night."

Hudson scoffs and goes back to yanking the clothes off Tommy, and the kid keeps up his struggling the whole time, wriggling and bucking and grinding that muscular little ass against me until I'm ready to throw him down on the floor and fuck him myself. Seeing him stripped off doesn't make it any easier to hold off, either. I must have had Tommy naked a dozen times since I came back, but I still haven't gotten over the novelty. He's as smooth and pale as he ever was, and he's still covered in purple-brown bruises and faded red scrapes, but he's carrying enough extra muscle now to make you stop and take a second look. You can still see the frame of the scrawny kid he used to be, though, and it gives him a kind of clumsy inbetween-ish look, like one of those young cats that's not quite old enough to know what to do with a full-grown animal body. If he keeps this up, in a year or so and he'll look like he's stepped out of a physique magazine, but I prefer him how he is right now. A bit stronger than before, a bit more solid, but still basically just a rough little scrapper. I prefer it so much I can hardly take my eyes off him.

"Tie him up before you strip the other one," Cole orders, and you can make out just a tiny little flicker of disappointment in Hudson's face before he jumps to it. He's right, a tied-up little punk can't earn half as much of a beating as one with his hands free, but if he thinks a bit of rope's going to subdue Tommy he's got another think coming. He wrenches the kid's arms behind his back and snaps a cuff around one wrist, and the touch of that metal sets Tommy off like a firecracker.

"What, can't you handle me without these?" he sneers, trying to tug his arm out of the copper's grip, but getting exactly nowhere. When the other cuff snaps into place, he scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Hah! Some tough guy you are!"

Tommy's never met these two before, but he's pitching it so perfectly I might as well have written him a script. Hudson's face is like thunder. He looks like he'd happily throw Tommy out the nearest window, if it wasn't for the Inspector sitting there watching us. So he settles for spinning the kid around and slugging him in the stomach, hard enough to drop him to the floor in a crumpled heap the minute Hudson lets go of him. The picture they make—Tommy naked and bruised and scowling, with the copper towering over him, sleeves rolled-up and hands balled into fists—it's the kind of sight keeps me up at night, the kind of scene I never get sick of watching.

"Punks like you," Hudson says, circling around to stand behind Tommy, spitting the words out like he really does hate the kid, "you're all talk, every single one of you. The louder you shout, the easier you are to break." He grabs hold of Tommy's hair and yanks his head right back, forcing the kid to stare up at him, and that just earns him another mouthful.

"Oh yeah? Why don't you let me out of these things and I'll show you some real action, eh? Or are you too—"

Hudson cuts him off with a boot in the back, shoving the kid over so he's face down across the armchair opposite, hard enough it sounds like all the air got knocked out of Tommy in one big push.

"You shut that mouth," the copper says, crouching down behind him. "And keep it shut, if you know what's good for you."

He ties Tommy's ankles together quickly, wrapping the rope around them as fast and efficient as if he'd been drilled on this nightly for years, and knowing that Inspector of his, he probably _has_. He needn't have bothered rushing, though. Tommy's quiet now, breathing hard but not saying a word, like he always is when the rough stuff really starts getting him hot and bothered. There's a switch in him somewhere, I reckon, and once you hit that switch he doesn't want to fight you anymore, he just wants your cock, and he can't think of anything else. Hitting that switch is like winning the lottery, and I reckon the boot Hudson put in the kid's back just won him the jackpot.

"And that goes for you, too." Hudson says, turning to me.

Well, Tommy might have nothing in his head except the need to get fucked, but I'm not quite there yet myself. Me, I need a bit more convincing, and I know just how to bait a guy like Hudson.

"Listen, Sergeant," I say, flashing him a smile as I start unfastening my tie, "you don't need to get heavy with me." And then I turn my back on him and start talking right at Cole, like there's no-one else in the room. "If the boss says entertain you, that's good enough for me. And besides…" I pause, halfway through unbuttoning my shirt, and I let Cole watch my eyes travelling down over the length of his suit, down to the polished leather of his shoes and back up again to that weather-beaten face. "Besides, this isn't a million miles away from what I do for fun, Inspector."

I shrug off my shirt and let it fall to the floor. I can feel Cole's eyes on me, running over my skin like a pair of rough, warm hands. I stand there for a moment, soaking up the attention, and then I step a bit closer. "Why don't you let me show you," is all I manage to get out before Hudson grabs hold of me from behind and clamps his hand over my mouth.

"Think you're pretty smooth, don't you?" he hisses, next to my ear. "Well, trust me, boy, you ain't impressing anybody. The Inspector's seen it all, ain't that right, sir?"

Cole just laughs and gives me a cold smile, the type old men always give you when they know they've got the upper hand. Which, let's face it, they always have.

"Tie him up the same way."

"Yes, sir." Hudson says, and you can practically hear the salute in his voice. He takes his hand off my mouth and moves it down to my arm, and the next thing I know I've got pain shooting up both arms and along my shoulders, I'm bent over at the waist without knowing how I got here, and all the blood's rushing to my head. No-one puts you in an arm-lock like a copper in a bad mood, do they?

"Now, there's no need for that," I say, half-purring the words as Hudson cuffs my hands behind my back. The sleazeball act seems to wind him up more than Tommy's turn as a fiery little thug, so I keep going, playing it up to the hilt. "You want me to make you happy, Sergeant, you don't even need to ask, you just let go of me and I'll be on my knees before you can say—"

He brings his foot down on the back of my knees, and I drop to the floor alright, only it's a lot quicker and clumsier than I was planning. My kneecaps feel like they're going to throb themselves right off, but that's not enough. Hudson puts his boot in the centre of my back and shoves me over, just like he did with Tommy, and my face hits the floor at Cole's feet hard enough to make me whimper like a frightened first-timer. By the time I've caught my breath, Hudson's yanked my trousers off and gotten started tying my ankles, and all I can do is kick my legs pointlessly against him while he weighs them down with one heavy knee.

"Hey, you get your hands off him, copper!" I hear Tommy shout behind me, hoarse and rough. I guess he got his energy back, and maybe that switch's flipped back into the red again.

Hudson lets go of me. "I told you to keep that mouth shut."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," Tommy laughs. "I just don't care."

I hear the smack of Hudson's hand against the kid's cheek, and a faint little grunt of pain.

"Keep trying, copper, you ain't gonna shut me up anytime soon!"

Another smack, another grunt of pain, louder this time. Then a strangled little whine, like the kid got his ankle caught in a snare.

"If I have to break you, I will."

"Don't make me laugh, first-timers in borstal hit harder than th—"

Another loud crack, and Tommy gives a ragged little cry of pain, more honest than any sound that's come out of his mouth all night. I want to turn round and watch, I want to see the look on the kid's face as Hudson gives him what for, but I don't get the chance.

"Come here," Cole says, dragging me upright by the hair. He must have unbuttoned his fly while I was caught up in listening to Tommy getting smacked around, and now he's got his free hand wrapped around his cock, working it slowly and tightly in his fist, holding the tip of it a few inches away from my face.

"You want me to beg for it, Inspector?" I say, darting my tongue out to wet my lips. "You want me to tell you how much I want a taste of that right now?"

"Doesn't matter to me how much you want it, son." Cole laughs, and shoves my head down. "The only thing a mouth like yours is good for is sucking cock, so why waste time letting you talk, eh?"

I can hear Hudson laughing in the background as Cole starts fucking my throat, and beneath that laughter I can hear the smack of his fist hitting Tommy's face, and a string of swallowed-down little cries of pain, and the whole thing gets me so wound up that if I didn't have my hands tied I'd have finished myself off in about three seconds flat.

"Come on then, copper," Tommy wheezes, and you can hear in his voice how tired and punchy he is now, "come on, is that the best you can do?"

And then there's an almighty thud, heavy and dull, and the kid yelps so pitifully I'm almost worried.

"Hudson," the old guy says, nice and even. "Put the boy over there, on the sofa."

"Yes, sir."

Without warning, Cole yanks me up by the hair and throws me to one side, like he's shoving a bit of rubbish out of his way. I hit the floor hard, landing heavily on my side, but I don't care. I can just about see Tommy and Hudson now, and it's worth it. The kid's up on the sofa, kneeling on one of the seats, with his ass in the air and his chest pressed to the arm, perfectly positioned to get the fucking I know he'll be desperate for by now. Hudson's stripped off to the waist, and with all those muscles and scars and smudgy old tattoos half-hidden by the dark hair on his chest and arms, he doesn't look like a copper at all. He looks like a bare-knuckle fighter blowing off steam on his night off.

"You take his mouth," Cole says, coming up to stand behind Tommy. He's got his back to me now, but I can hear the slick sound of him lubing his hand up.

"Right you are, sir." Hudson grabs hold of Tommy's hair in one hand and pulls him forward. I can hear the kid's mouth sliding wetly down his shaft, I can hear him struggling to swallow it all, I can hear him groaning softly around the hard cock filling his throat, and not being able to _see_ what I'm hearing is driving me mad, so mad I can't help trying to shift around to angle myself into a better view.

"Bit uncomfortable, are you?" Hudson looks down at me and laughs. "Your little friend got the best deal here, didn't he?"

You know what stings worse than hearing all of this but not quite seeing it? It's the feeling of being on the sideline. I mean, what's it come to if a kid like Tommy's the main event, and I'm just the warm-up? When I was his age I did jobs with older guys, ones who must've been the age I am now, and I used to ask myself, who do these old-timers think they're kidding? Like anyone over twenty-five was past their sell-by date. And now I'm the one on the reduced shelf. I'm three years away from being thirty. What am I going to do when that clock strikes?

Then Tommy moans that hungry little moan again, muted and muffled against Hudson's lap, and suddenly sell-by dates and ticking clocks don't mean anything to me. I watch Tommy arching his back as he feels Cole's hand sliding down between the cheeks of his ass, and I find myself thinking, well, maybe hitting thirty with a stupid kid like him around won't be so bad.

"Damn it, he's tight," Cole says, pushing his fingers in right up to the knuckles, hard enough to make Tommy yelp. Then he glances over his shoulder at me and smiles. "You're not fucking him enough, Castro."

I don't know what to say to that. How's it down to me, what condition the kid's in? So I look up silently at Cole, and he just laughs.

"What, you think I can't tell he's one of yours? I'm old, son, not stupid."

Hudson laughs at that too. "You're _his_ , are you? What does that make you, a punk's punk?"

Tommy makes an angry little sound, muffled against the copper's skin, but Hudson's not settling for that. Out the corner of my eye I can see him pull back, and then I hear his cock hit the kid's cheek with a wet, heavy slap that makes my throat ache just listening to it.

"Got something to say, have you?"

Tommy laughs. "I said, damn right I'm his punk, I gotta have at least one guy who can keep up with me since everyone else round here's a bunch of dried-up old—"

I hear the crack of a palm hitting the kid's cheek, loud and sharp. He must love the sting of that hand, the way he keeps chasing after it. He loves it, alright, but not half as much as he loves the ache of a good hard fucking. When Cole pushes forward and starts feeding his cock into Tommy's ass, the kid makes this perfect little whining sound in the back of his throat, like he doesn't know whether it's too much or not enough, like he'd do anything to get away and anything to get another few inches. If he makes that noise underneath you, you know you're done for. It's like being drugged, you've got no choice at all but to keep fucking him, keep drilling those sweet little noises out of him, until you're spent and he's looking up at you with those hungry dark eyes, asking you if you can go again. I mean, just look at him. Head down and ass in the air, with Hudson's hands locked around the back of his neck and Cole's fingers digging into his hips, pinned between the two of them like a little pale scrap of meat being torn apart by a couple of old wolves. You look at him, and tell me if you've ever seen anything more perfect.

"Hudson, go and warm up the other one," Cole says, nodding in my direction.

"Yes, sir."

Hudson pulls out of Tommy's mouth and heads over to me, glowering down at me with enough heat in those dark eyes that if his Inspector wasn't standing a few feet away I might be really worried. I watch him over my shoulder as he pours a bit of lube out into his palm and slicks it along his fingers, and when I say "Don't keep me waiting, Sergeant, I'm not the patient type," he just laughs and gives me a grim smile, the kind that gives me the shivers. Then all of a sudden he's leaning over me, pinning me down with a hand on my neck, pushing his cock into me in one long merciless stroke.

"Doesn't need much warming up, sir, this one," Hudson says, talking to his Inspector but looking right at me. "Took it nice and easy, no trouble at all. He was probably bending over for anyone with a hard cock and a fat wallet back when his little friend was in primary school."

It shouldn't work on me, it should be water off a duck's back by now, but somehow I've never grown a thick skin for stuff like this. Every time, it's like someone turning a key in the ignition. Sometimes I think I like this kind of talk better than the actual fucking. I smirk up at him, the best I can with that hand gripping my throat. "And you were probably buying boys like me when he was in his pram, eh, Sergeant?"

"That's right," he says, grinding his cock into me deep and slow, "but you'd be doing this even if your boss wasn't paying you, wouldn't you? I know your type, boy. I can spot a cock-hungry little punk like you a mile off. And you want this—" he breaks off to pull back and slam into me again, deeper than ever, hard enough to knock a pathetic moan out of me. "You want _this_ more than any amount of cash, don't you?"

I'm so caught up in what Hudson's doing to me, how he's looking at me, what he's saying, that when I hear a dull thud and a yelp of pain from Tommy's direction it takes me a minute to figure out what's going on. The kid's sprawled face-down on the carpet, and Cole's standing over him, looking at me and the Sergeant.

"He's all yours, Hudson," he says, nudging Tommy in the ribs with the tip of one shoe. "Bring Castro over here."

"Yes, sir."

And just like that, Hudson gets up off me like I'm the least interesting thing in the world. That power, that authority, that magic ability to make the toughest guy in the room do exactly what you want and do it with a smile on his face, sometimes I think I'd give my right arm for an ounce of that power.

"Finished the appetiser, have you?" I say, trying to play it cool, or as cool as I can while I'm being hauled across to Cole on unsteady legs with my ankles bound. "About time you got started on the main course, I reckon."

"Turn him around." Cole orders, like he didn't hear a word I said. He just sits down on the sofa, still stroking that weathered old fist over his cock, and beckons Hudson with his free hand. "I want him on my lap."

Hudson's got me in position before I've even thought of my next smart line, and then Cole grabs hold of my waist and pulls me down onto his cock, and now I haven't got any smart lines to give. He hits the right angle without even trying, and by the time I'm all the way down on it, I'm biting my lip to keep from begging for more. If I had my legs free I'd be riding the old man for all I'm worth, but trussed up like this all I can do is sit here and let him haul me up and down on his cock exactly as he pleases. And this Inspector, he doesn't mess about. He's just as brutal as Hudson, only with a decade more experience behind each of those sledgehammer thrusts.

"Put the boy in front of us," Cole says, and of course Hudson jumps to it right away, dragging Tommy by the arms into the centre of the room and shoving him onto his knees in front of the sofa, positioned just right so me and the Inspector get a good clear view of the kid. Then Hudson kneels down behind Tommy, holding him in place with a hand on his shoulder, and I can see in the kid's eyes the exact moment when that thick cock slides into his ass. His lips are parted, and his eyes are half-closed, and I can hear his breath coming shallow and fast now, as Hudson starts to drill him just as hard as Cole's fucking me. Somehow I feel like the old man's stealing some of my attention away from Tommy, like in a way I'd rather just be watching him, but every thrust of the Inspector's cock drags my mind away from the sight in front of me and inwards, in to the itch he's scratching inside me. I wish I had enough attention for both. Instead my concentration swings back and forth between the sight and sound of Tommy getting the roughest fucking he's had for months, and the feeling of being slammed down on Cole's cock, over and over, grinding away at the inside of me relentlessly, with about as much mercy as any copper ever showed a punk like me, let alone a dirty one.

"Enjoying yourself, son?" Cole laughs, shoving me down onto the floor. He moves with me, putting me in position opposite Tommy, and then he reaches around to grab hold of my cock. The minute his hand wraps around me, it's like my volume control goes on the blink. I was doing a bit of groaning before, a bit of yelping and gasping whenever he shoved me down extra hard, but now I'm moaning like this is the first taste of cock I've had for weeks.

"Look at him…" Hudson gives a nasty, gruff laugh, and yanks Tommy's head up so he's looking right at me. "Your buddy loves it, doesn't he? Look at his face, he's as desperate as a dog in heat. He loves a good hard fucking, doesn't he? Maybe even more than you do, you cheap little punk."

"You gonna talk, or are you gonna fuck me?" Tommy says, breathy and ragged. "And put your back into it, copper, I can barely feel—"

Hudson yanks his head back hard, and the kid cuts himself off with a throaty little yelp. Watching him get nailed like this, watching the look on his face while he gets filled full of cock as hard and rough as I'm getting from the old man, it's going right to my head. Cole's hand tightens up around me, working my cock a bit firmer, and all of a sudden I can feel myself rushing right up to the edge, full-throttle.

"Inspector," I say, but he's way ahead of me.

"Hold the boy's head still, and keep his mouth open." Cole orders, and Hudson's on it straight away, fixing Tommy in just the right position to make the perfect target. I feel like a gun being fired, like I've got no choice in the matter at all. Cole just aims me at Tommy and pulls my trigger, and before I can say another word I'm arching back against the old man and coming all over the kid's face, coating his cheeks and forehead and tongue with thick white ropes of the stuff, and the whole time Tommy's staring up at me with this look on his face like he's died and gone to heaven. That look. I could chase that look my whole life and not get tired.

But I don't get to enjoy it for long. The old man must have timed it just right, because about half a dozen strokes after he shoved me over the edge, he's coming himself, groaning so deep and low in that broad chest that I can feel it rumbling through me. He pulls me back onto his cock one last time, shoving the whole length of it into me so deep I can't think, and then at last he stops moving, at last I can catch my breath, at last I can watch Tommy take everything Hudson's giving him, and now he's got all of my attention. He's bent forward now, pushed down with one sticky cheek pressed to the carpet, and Hudson's got one hand on the back of the kid's neck and the other wrapped around the chain of the cuffs. He's not talking now, not baiting the kid at all. Maybe this is what he's like when he's off the clock, when he's not trying to entertain his Inspector. Who knows, maybe deep down he's a really nice guy.

"Filthy little bitch…" he hisses, slamming into Tommy hard and fast as he starts to come. Alright, maybe he's not such a nice guy after all.

 

* * *

 

"Well then, Inspector," I say, giving Cole a nice big smile. "D'you want me to tell the boss we're all square?"

"What d'you think, Sergeant?" The old man looks at Hudson, completely deadpan, like his underling really might have an opinion that doesn't match his.

"We're all square," Hudson says, and he comes up close to Tommy, close enough that the kid has to tilt his head back to meet the copper's eyes. "But I reckon I'll have to run this one in sometime, just to make sure he's keeping on the straight and narrow."

"You just try it!" Tommy sneers, slipping into his tough-guy posture with an impressive amount of energy for someone who was half-asleep on my shoulder a minute ago. "You want to go again, do you? Well, come on then, I can take anything you can dish out, copper!"

"Leave it, Tommy." I grab hold of his arm and pull him towards the door.

"Sure thing, Johnny," the kid says, grinning up at me. "Whatever you say!"


End file.
